


Herald Angels (can't) sing

by Fauna96



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas fic, Gen, Mary and Jospeh, There are other angels too, and brief apparitions of Baby Jesus, late of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fauna96/pseuds/Fauna96
Summary: He haven’t felt this way since very long, being honest (and he was always honest): there was so much joy and wonder and... and something else. Something else that certainly clashed with the atmosphere, and that wasn’t Elael in the choir***Crowley, despite everything, hates relatively few things: cold weather, pedestrians that hinder the road and being summoned by his superiors. Unfortunately, on a certain time of the year, two of these recurring events happen at the same time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm late for a Christmas fic. Whatever. Just a silly thing.

**The Herald Angels (can’t) sing**

_Bethlehem, summer in around 5 B. C_

That night was peaceful and starry; there weren’t many awake men, but those who were, glimpsed something else in the sky, besides stars. They were indefinable presences by human eye, as indefinable was the music lingering in the air above a cavern.

Aziraphale was together with the shepherds, holding in his arms a little pigs-keeper that had sprained her ankle in the rush of seeing the newborn. He haven’t felt this way since very long, being honest (and he was _always_ honest): there was so much joy and wonder and... and something else. Something else that certainly clashed with the atmosphere, and that wasn’t Elael in the choir.[[1](%E2%80%9C#note1%E2%80%9D)]

Aziraphale dropped it and instead focused his attention on Mary’s bright little face, so young and beautiful, on Joseph’s trembling hands, fixing the swaddling cloth around...

Nothing doing. The sensation of something wrong stayed there proding him; yet, there shouldn’t have been nothing wrong. So...

The little girl pulled him by his clothing and whispered in his ear: - Over there someone has fallen asleep... –

Aziraphale followed her directed little finger and saw indeed an half-hidden silhouette, coiled on the ground, distant from the light of the torches. He was taken by an horrible presentiment. He put the little one on the ground, recommending her to be careful and not worsening her ankle, and furtively he stepped closer to the shadiest spot behind the cavern.

Clung to a wine amphora, Crowley snored peacefully, clearly unaware of the demonic aura that he was spreading all around; it was incredible that none of the other angels had noticed him, but maybe the Baby’s beneficial influence was too strong; besides Aziraphale was by now... used to detect the demon.

He lingered staring at the placid silhouette, torn: he should have taken the chance and banished the Enemy, that had had the nerve to come right there; but, then again, it was an holy night, and it didn’t seem an appropriate thing kil... ehm, discorporating anyone.

Before he could decide, Crowley made an huge yawn and cracked an eye open. – Angel – he squawked – what a surprise finding you here -.

\- I should be the one saying this to you – Aziraphale answered, trying to appear solemn and stern, as an angel should be. – What are you doing here? –

Crowley seemed to be rather confused about the notion of ‘here’: he looked around and massaged his temples. – So it was you and your blessssed angelic voices – he hissed. – I’ve had to drink almossst half of my ressserve to be able to sssleep –

Aziraphale peeked furtively over his own shoulder: none of his brothers had noticed his absence, occupied as they were cooing around Baby Jesus; Aziraphale made a gesture and Crowley blinked very quickly. – Oh. You weren’t obligated, angel -.

Aziraphale shrugged and sat down next to him (as much as clearly hungover Crowley was, he had to keep an eye on him, didn’t he?). They stayed in silence for a while, then Crowley took a sip of wine, handed out to him the amphora and commented: - Anyway, for being a newborn, he’s rather well-mannered: I was expecting more wailing –

Aziraphale hid a smile in the wine. – I guess so –

 

_London, 25 th December, a pair of millenniums later_

Crowley, despite everything, hates relatively few things: cold weather, pedestrians that hinder the road and being summoned by his superiors. Unfortunately, on a certain time of the year, two of these recurring events happen at the same time.

The heat of the Bentley is at its maximum, but Crowley however can sense the bitterly cold out there; humans, instead, seem to not detect it at all, considering that they’re bouncing along the streets twittering best wishes.

Crowley grinds his teeth and parks in front of the bookshop, seeing to dent well the other cars, and he regrets Saturnalia: how is it possible that Down There allowed such a delightfully uninhibited celebration to become _The Sound of music_ winter version?

The chilled air that enters by the car door cuts off his breath (metaphorically speaking) for a moment, then Aziraphale settles on the passenger seat looking extremely content.

\- I didn’t expect to see you, dear, I thought you’d rather staying home – ‘sulking’ is implied. Crowley grunts in response and drives towards the Ritz, happy island between all those disgusting illuminations. In the end, he doesn’t mind Christmas at all, or rather what humans celebrate passing it off as Christmas: thanks to Someone, people is always terribly material and venal, not to mention the delightful December consumerism; no, it’s that atmosphere, so sugary and hypocrite. And, obviously, the damn... the _crap_ pedestrians in the middle of the road.

\- Crowley? – Aziraphale is unrolling the scarf from his neck and is staring at him worried, almost. – Are you sure you want to go? I’m not offended, you know, if you’d rather going back home -.

Crowley shrugs. – Nah. Some wine is just what is needed -.

After all, Christmas is bearable, he decides, switching on the radio and the cassette player to listen to _Santa Claus is coming to town_ Queen version.

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1He was so willing, such a good boy, but not all the angels produce celestial music. [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return1%E2%80%9D) ]


End file.
